Not Her
by SlaughterOtter
Summary: Shortly after Anne becomes Quartermaster of the Jackdaw, her and Edward spend a drunken night together. However, upon waking up, they realize that neither of them are, or ever will be Mary. Mild sexual content. Implied Kiddway and Anne/Mary


Not Her

* * *

His feet danced across the moonlit beach, his eyes alight with the joys of rum and good company. Sand spilled into his boots with each clumsy step he took, his body only remaining upright from a mixture sheer determination and years of practice. Bawdy songs and laughter carried through the warm Caribbean air. Men gave one another congratulatory slaps on the back before raising yet another toast to their own victory against the Spanish earlier that day. The dark flags of the ships floating silently in the harbor fluttered defiantly in the breeze in proud reminder that they too had survived the day's work. Edward's shoulders felt lighter than they had in…well, he couldn't say he remembered, but from the tense knots that clung tightly to his muscles he could gather it had been a while. A good-humored curse slipped past his lips as his knees finally hit the sand and the near-empty bottle of alcohol slipped from his fingers. An amused drunken shriek pitched higher than the rest rang out across the bonfire. _Bonny._

"Had too much to drink, Edward?" she called out, her eyes gleaming with mirth. Her strong and calloused fingers were wrapped around her own poison of choice. In the light of the fire, her auburn hair shone brightly and the blush of her cheeks glowed. His eyes met hers briefly, before his lips twisted into a wry grin. Sand flew from his hair as he gave his head a quick shake and stumbled from all fours onto two unstable legs, evidently deciding against gracing her with a reply. An abrupt cringe that briefly soured his face showed that he clearly hadn't forgotten the last time he had tried besting her in a verbal battle. The renewed peals of laughter exploding from Anne showed that she hadn't forgotten either.

Her necklaces bounced merrily against her chest as she made her way over to him, her bare feet lightly skipping over the sand. The bottle of rum she'd been drinking from carelessly slipped from her grasp, making no sound as it hit the soft ground. "Dance with me, will you?" With her cool, lithe hands already grasping his warm, heavy ones he felt he had no choice but to oblige.

The world spun around them as they waltzed and twirled with no particular rhythm, only the desire to move and share in one another's happiness. The lines of grief that hadn't been present on Anne's face when he'd first met her didn't seem so deep in the light of the moon and stars. Amidst the cheering and music, lighthearted words and jokes spilled easily from behind his smile, unimpeded from the guilt that so often choked his throat closed. The air was light and fresh in his lungs, the sea sparkled before his eyes, and for a rare moment his soul was wholly content.

But then his foot caught a rock (most definitely not his other foot) and the ground violently jerked sideways. Air left his lungs with an undignified _oomph_ as his back met the sand and Anne Bonny came crashing down on top of him, giggling like mad. He felt in puffs her warm breath against his skin and he could easily count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Dimples appeared on her rosy cheeks. "I really do think you _have_ had too much, Captain Kenway."

"I don't think you're exactly a fair one to ju-_oomph!_" he grunted again, as she pushed down on his chest in an attempt to right herself. Her weight shifted from his chest to his abdomen, as she managed to bring her knees up underneath her to straddle him. She flicked her gaze over him, slowly abandoning her smile in favor of drawing her lower lip between her teeth. The firelight glinted strangely in her eyes as they narrowed, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Around them, the noise of the other pirates' merrymaking faded to a dull roar. Even the sound of the mighty ocean lapping against the shore couldn't be heard over the suddenly rapid and loud beating of Edward's heart. She leaned over him, the longest of her necklaces weighing heavily upon his chest. He stared up at her unblinkingly. Then slowly, she lowered her head (or perhaps he raised his) and their lips melded together in a slow, drawn out kiss.

Her hair was sleek and soft as he threaded his fingers through it, smooth and unhampered by beads, braids, or headband. His hands faltered, first because he felt as if there _should _be some sort of obstruction in her hair, and second because Anne chose that moment to grind herself into him.

And then all of a sudden he rolled over on top of her, planting kisses on her neck _(there should be a small scar just _there_)_ and then she was pulling him to his feet to drag him towards the _Jackdaw_, _(pulling too softly at first, as if used dragging someone smaller and lighter than him along), _their hands fitting clumsily together _(because it was someone else__'__s hand they were accustomed to holding)_.

If there had been any crew left aboard the _Jackdaw_ they would have been awoken by the loud thud that shook the boat as Edward and Anne stumbled onto the ship. It may have been the rum, but the door to the captain's chambers stubbornly refused to let the pair enter until several attempts at getting the damn thing open had been made.

Their clothes hit the ground with a hurried and practiced, but certainly not elegant ease. The bed groaned with their weight as they fell on top of it. The sheets were yellowed with age and dotted with old blood stains. Edward kicked a particularly disgusting looking pillow out of the way before brushing a hand over Anne's bare stomach and dragging his lips up the inside of her thighs.

They reeked of sweat and alcohol, and Edward couldn't help but think when he looked into her glassy eyes that they weren't the right shade of brown. Even in his inebriated state, he could see that she too was picking out all the things he wasn't.

But they were drunk, they were together, and, most importantly, they were the only two of their original crowd who were still alive.

It was over quickly, and when he came it wasn't Anne's name that fell from his lips. He would have felt ashamed, embarrassed even, if it weren't for when she came minutes afterward the same name fell from hers.

_Mary._

* * *

The room came more slowly into focus than Edward would have liked the next morning. He pressed his palms to his sore eyes, hoping to alleviate the pounding in his skull, and tried to coax some saliva into his bone-dry mouth. The bed dipped and creaked beside him. A low _(but not low enough to be _her_) _moan sounded beside him, and he managed to squint one bleary eye open to see Anne finish rolling onto her back and copy him by pressing the palms of her hands over her eyes too.

Above them on deck, they heard the periodic footsteps of the crew going about their business and the screeching of gulls hurtling through the air.

The muscles in Edward's shoulders were yet again tensed and knotted, while Anne's youthful face was marred by deep lines of worry and anguish once more.

He knew what she was going to say even before she finished the sigh that preceded her sentence.

"Edward, last night, that was…that was…"

"That wasn't right."

He sensed rather than saw her relief. He felt it himself, too, and not for the first time felt a bolt of genuine gratitude towards Anne shoot through him. Of all the people he could've tumbled into bed with, Anne was the only one who _understood._

"No, it wasn't. I'm not… You're not…"

"We're not her."

"Aye. No, we're not."

When the sunlight peering through the window had shifted a couple feet across the room, they rose together. The room was silent, the air made dark and heavy by the grief that bound them. They pulled on their clothes, keeping their eyes averted from each other and their heads angled down towards the floor.

Edward already had his hand on the doorknob when he felt a gentle hand on his arm. His neck groaned in protest, but he turned his head to look at her. Anne eye's bore quietly into his, so different than how they glinted fiercely in the light of the fire last night, and she stood on tiptoe to tenderly press her lips against his cheek in a gesture of friendship. He blinked in understanding, and softly squeezed her shoulder.

The hinges squealed in protest when he pushed the door open, leaving him and Anne to blink and squint in the harsh sunlight that streamed down from azure skies. Aye, it was true that neither of them were Mary and neither of them would ever be what Mary had been to them, but at least they had someone who _understood._

* * *

_Hey! Long time no write, I know I know. But I saw a lovely anon__'__s post on kenway-headcanons[__.__]__tumblr__[__.__]__com__ and couldn__'__t resist writing something short for it. God, I love AC4. Especially Mary Read. She__'__s the best. Her relationship with Edward is my favorite, and I love the idea that she had something special with Anne too. Ugh, they are so precious._


End file.
